Mr Brightside
by luft
Summary: Jealousy - was he even entitled to that?
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** _It's not cannon, and it's not your typical happy GSR. It's just something I'm working on, and hoping to put into words. Inspired by the song of the same title. _

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He took off his glasses and wiped his face in resignation. With a small sigh, he pushed himself off the chair, switched off the lights to his office and took the long solitary walk along the corridors to his car.

It had been another difficult case in what had been a difficult year. Somehow, the overall mood in his team had been more sober and emotional than it used to be. Seeing one of your own being buried six feet under, struggling to find the will to live without knowing how long he had, was bound to take its toll, even on the most crime-hardened veterans. Faced with death every day, they all have learnt to detach themselves from the bodies they see in front of them. In the process, they and Death became strange bedfellows - He was so much a part of their professional lives, they would not even entertain Him at the doorstep of their private lives. They forget His existence, until they are face to face again at the lab, anticipating him before they walked through those doors, repeating this strange flirtation night after night. That is, until that fateful day when Death crossed the boundaries between their personal and professional selves when He chose Nick as His would-be victim.

He had learnt from a young age to keep his emotions in. Growing up with his mother, in a world devoid of sound, he learnt not to express himself in so many words. He learnt the subtlety of emotions, how to convey them, the little signs that words obscure. Words cheapen their profundity. But profound silences and longing lingering looks were not enough, without being backed up by words. And she was not one to mince them, and the words she said to him echoed loud and clear in his mind.

And when your own mortality decides to mock you through the near-death experience of a younger man, it puts the total experiences of your life into perspective. For the past twenty-five years, he has been walking down the same empty corridors to an empty car to drive alone back to an empty home. It felt like one big empty cage.

After the year was gone, he realised, he wanted it all. His career, his solitude, her.

* * *

She could not bring herself to close her eyes. At the end of a long case, all she ever would want to do was lie down in her bed, taking in its soft comfort, and close her tired eyes. A beer before she tucks herself into her covers, maybe. Always it had been her place of refuge - her bed, her apartment, her solitude. But the walls seem to silently scream at her, like a tomb that would not yield its burden. Her bed felt hard and cold, and if she closed her eyes, she felt the sensation of ants crawling all over her skin. She jumped up and went to the bathroom, turning the water on to her usual temperature. But it all felt wrong - the water was too hot, and then not warm enough. Still clad in her tshirt and shorts, she sat under the shower, washing away the dirt that had buried one of her best friends, the feeling of ants on her skin, the stain of being in love with someone who will not love her back.

God knows how long she would have stayed in the shower, if the telephone had not rung. Like Pavlov's dog, she switched to autopilot on hearing the ring of her cell. It was always death -work- requiring her to drop whatever it was she was doing for Him. Turning the shower off, she got up and walked to her bedroom, dripping water all over her floor.

"Open the door," was all he said when she picked up.


	2. Chapter 2

He did not know who was more surprised- her, seeing him at her door, one hand holding a six-pack and the other holding his cell -or him, seeing her in a nondescript tank top and shorts, looking as though all the rains of Las Vegas had stormed through her apartment. She smiled a small, dare he say watery, smile at him and barely let his name out in a small, confused breath. He cocked his eyebrows at her, and she moved aside, letting him into her apartment, in what he hoped would be the first step in letting him into her heart.

"You're wet."

He moved to put the beers in the fridge, and stood up to face her, trying to find a pose that would hide his nerves, make him come across as cool and suave. He settled for awkwardly leaning against the fridge doors, hands in his pockets.

"So I've noticed. I'll go get changed."

He watched her retreating form as she went to her bedroom. He ran a hand through his sandy hair, and not having bothered to style it before leaving his house, it lay in soft waves barely touching his collar. Greg looked down at his ratty sneakers, his faded jeans and his dark-brown hoodie. Whatever gave him the courage to drive over to _her_ house, bringing with him beers and himself as company had quickly deserted him the moment he called on her to open the door. He blamed it on the recklessness caused by Nick and his team having triumphed over a madman's manipulation of Death. Those moments seeing him in the glass coffin, seeing for themselves the uncertainty of life - caused them all to take stock on their own lives. It made them want to throw caution to the wind, and live and do the things they most want to. And so he had relied on that just like how others excused their actions when drunk.

It came as a shock to him that she was on his mind the entire ride home, after they had found Nick. He had always wondered, what he would have done when given another chance at life. Granted, he was not the one buried six feet under with ants taking a piece of him every which way, but he sure was there for the ride to hell and back. He blamed it on the fact that she was the one he now spent most of his time with - being a CSI robbed him of whatever social life he used to have. Or the fact that she was the last person he said goodbye to before he got in his car -her scent, the warmth and ferocity in her hug, her tears still lingering on his shirt, his mind.

The soft sounds of her footsteps shook him out of his reverie, and he looked up at her and gave her what he hoped was a smile goofy enough to stave off his nerves and the awkwardness of his sudden presence. She looked much drier now despite the still-damp hair, in black sweatpants and a grey tank top.

"Hi."

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a puzzled look, wondering why she felt more at ease than he did, despite being the one to have answered the door looking like a drowned rat. The situation was bizzare enough as it is, and her tired mind did not seem to be able to make sense of all the emotions she was feeling.

"I..uhh..thought you could do with some beer and company."

She looked at him, at the bags under his eyes. His hair was longer now, he looked older, softer. Like he had seen more than his years. His get-up, casual as it was, lacked the colour of his younger, more innocent days. He was quieter, and the loud confidence he used to have seemed to have dissipated slowly over this last few months. His incessant questions asking her out on a date had been replaced by light flirting and questions on fingerprinting technique, evidence collection and tips on suspect interrogation. She found herself missing him trying to wheedle a one-on-one break with her, an uncertain and shy smile so unbecoming of him gracing his boyish face.

"Sorry it's just us..I tried to get Warrick but he said he had 'someone' important to take care of..Catherine wanted to be with Lindsey and her mom tonight, and Nick is unfortunately hospitalised indefinitely.."

He had tried for a casual laugh at the last one, but they both knew what was on the other's mind.

She took a step closer to him. His try at justifying his lone presence was not lost on her. She found that she did not at all mind. She was never one for big groups, anyway.

"I thought of calling Grissom but..."

His name sent a jolt to her stomach and brought her thoughts to a standstill. Fleeting images and emotions haphazardly tumbled through her mind - Grissom going over to pay the ransom alone, and her worry escalating into silent hysteria when she learnt that he was caught in a bomb explosion. Grissom turning her invitation to dinner down. Grissom calling her beautiful. Grissom asking Sofia out to dinner. Grissom sending her the plant. Disappointment. Hope. Hurt. Heather. Jealousy. He and thier torturous non-relationship occupied her mind, her heart, her car, her apartment as she saw that godforsaken plant he gave her, her bathroom as she tried to wash it all away -

She realised that Greg never did finish the sentence.

He was looking at her, and she saw herself in his eyes. She saw the admiration, the longing, the resignation, the hope. She also saw the understanding, of one who knew what it felt to be at the bitter end of unrequited - was it even love? Obsession. That's what it had become for her. A fucking pathetic obsession that took over her, had her throw away anything that did not lead her on her glass-covered path towards Grissom. She wondered when Greg would reach the same conclusion about her. She was surprised to find that it hurt her -but only a little bit, she countered.

"Sara?"

He said her name tentatively, and she wondered at the sound of his voice, only now discerning the deeper, throaty base of his tone. Confusion wrestled back its throne from all the other emotions in her mind, her heart, and she could only give him a small smile in response. They were standing face to face, yet the air around felt like the thickest glass. Even Nick in his coffin, she was sure, was better able to breathe.

It hit her then, why he was here. Like how Grissom had occupied all of her, she must have done the same to him. She was the one he needed to see, the one he would take his second chance on, the one he could not die without telling her how he felt. And the conspicuous absence of the other man doused the hope out of her more than sitting under that shower ever could.

Her words echoed through her mind. He never did figure it out.

Greg did not know what possessed him to step closer to her, or to put his hand on her cheek. Surely he did not think of doing that. In fact, he don't think he thought at all. But he could not take the silence that was suffocating them. He had to do something, and after the mindfuck he went through during this last case, he could not imagine anything that could be worse than seeing your friend dying in front of you. He did not feel the courage coming back to him. He just felt her soft, cold cheek, and soon after that her soft lips featherlike on his.

She sighed into his kiss. She vaguely remembered a nagging voice at the back of her mind, telling her that it was wrong. She should not give in to him, not now, not when she herself did not know who it was she wanted, what it was she felt. But like him, she did not think - she couldn't. He was all around her, his scent caressing her, his slightly calloused hands warm on her cheek. Images of the previous case, of the previous year flashed through her mind- a blurred phantasmagoria of sounds colours emotions and it all came to a blinding crash at the slight pressure of his lips on hers. She found herself pulling him closer, her hands running the length of his arms, the expanse of his back, in his hair, anywhere that she could touch him.

It was only a kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:**_ got stuck..and now trying to get back on that writing wagon....  
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He tried, he really did. He would have told her, as soon as the hour was over. He would have gone into his car, and driven to her apartment. He was just trying to get ready, waiting for the right time. But the hours ticked by into the next day, and then carried on ticking into the next, until a few hundred hours had gone by into what could only have been a few days. He was still going to tell her, of course. He had made up his mind, after all. He wanted her. He would tell her. Just, not till the minute hand reaches the number 12 on his clock again..

He sat in his chair, behind the paperwork piled on his desk, the door ajar. He stared at the clock above his door. The past week was almost gone, and with it, his excuses. A week was too long a time to still try to hide his real feelings behind irrational decisions and impulses, caused by the horror of Nick's kidnapping. The minute hand ticked into place. He felt himself relaxing, letting out a breath he did not know he was holding. Once again, he had set the timer back to zero.

_One, two, three.._

He took his eyes off the clock. He had heard the younger man's heavy footsteps, and watched him now as he passed by his office, a smile on his face. _I'm OK_. Nick had returned back to the lab, subdued, but not without his usual cautious optimism. He was not OK, and won't be for a long time.

_Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.._

Warrick came in next, walking down the same corridor that Nick did not a few seconds ago. He stopped by the doorway of Grissom's office to say hello, his left hand on the doorway. Grissom noted the gold wedding band on his ring finger. Simple, quiet, functional; just like his courtship and his apparent marriage. Grissom nodded in response. "Congratulations." Warrick gave him a small smile, and left to greet Nick with a hug.

"Hey buddy, welcome back,"

_Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three..._

He collated the assignment slips on his desk that Judy had passed on to him from PD. As he got up from his chair, Catherine breezed in. Her appearance was impeccable as always, her walk as confident as ever. She had a big smile on her face that would disappear later when she saw that unobtrusive wedding band. Right now though, she was giving Nick her brightest smile, and her biggest bear hug. Her smile was softer when she looked at Warrick, her eyes lingering too long on his to notice the thin sliver of gold.

_Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three..._

He came in to the conference room with assignments in his hands and butterflies in his stomach. He looked at the three oldest members of his team gathered there. The three that Ecklie had taken away from him to put into Swing shift. There was a certain camaraderie and gravitas in the room that he had missed when they were gone. Not that his two other members were not mature and capable adults. He just at times felt the two-decade gap between his world and theirs. With all of them back together, he could ignore the obvious differences. There would now be more bodies, more cases, spaces, time in between seeing each other to hide his emotions behind.

_Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three.._

He greeted Nick back with a handshake, he did not do hugs. He looked at all three of them. It really was good to have them back, but he was missing two members of his team. His team. And he was particularly anxious to see one of them again. He looked at his wristwatch, and decided to give them till the next minute was up before leaving for the crime scene. It was a hot case, and Brass was already waiting. Besides, he was not sure how much more small talk he could make in this room, without having Nick's survival, Warrick's marriage and Catherine's happiness taunting him about his inaction during the week. He was a coward, he knew that. But he had spent too many years building up his reputation to have it knocked down by an office scandal. He had spent too many months being reminded of the improbability of his age and hers converging at the same point.

He had spent too many years reassuring himself that that was why he never reciprocated Sara's love for him.

_Sixty._

He told Nick to give Greg and Sara a call to meet them at their crime scene. He left the room with Catherine as they walked towards the car park. He had again managed to delay seeing her, delay making his feelings known to her, even for those few minutes and seconds before they left to start work proper. He sighed. Once again, he was being a coward.

The minute hand ticked steadily on.


End file.
